Not Love
by sweet as an elf
Summary: Sometimes the things we want most are unknown to us. Or we've simply lost the ability to think of them. So our own emotions have learned to sneak up on us, then appear to make an impact, just so we could recognize them for what they are.
1. Things To Sort Out

She noticed him out of the corner of her eye. Well, it was her job to do it, but today was especially important that she did. She was supposed to be a bystander, oblivious to the two men in the middle of the crowded plaza. Every nerve in her body, however, adjusted itself according to any movement they made.

One of them was a bio-chemical weapons dealer. Tall, lanky, with greasy black hair. Russian and malnourished looking. The other, the one she really focused on, had baby-blue eyes, deep set under a pair of arched eyebrows. Very mysterious. His hair was brown and there were a signs of a 5 o' clock stubble on his chin. He held himself with an easy confidence, kingly and defiant in blue jeans and a pea coat, collar turned up against the bite of the wind.

There were very specific reasons why they - the division - had chosen Peter for this particular assignment instead of a trained agent. It wasn't safe to expose someone like him to such a dangerous criminal, but it had to be done. Whatever those reasons might have been, Olivia found herself overpowered by the one counter reason foremost in her mind. Despite her rational, military thought process, she couldn't help it. "Anyone else, but don't take him."

She wanted to reach out, pull him inside an all-protecting shield she wished she could have conjured. They had done this before, hadn't they? None of those other times had felt to crucial to her. That alone - that she had not realized how much was at stake sent a spike of panic up her spine. How could she not have known? Why was this coming to her now?

She saw the Russian pull something out of his pocket, a small card, and hand it to Peter. Then they shook hands - Olivia cringed - and the man walked away. Peter went in the opposite direction, heading for Olivia's car as soon as the coast was clear. She almost sprinted to the vehicle. She hated leaving him exposed like that.

"Olivia," he said, as soon as they were both in the car. "What's wrong?"

She blinked. The mission had gone according to plan. She hadn't said anything, what could he possibly...

"You look tense," he continued, "is everything OK?"

Oh. Damn. Cover-up, quick. "Everything's fine." And it was, it really was. He was safe. That's all that mattered. She was caught off guard by the stunning realization that no amount of Marine training could have prepared her for this. Then there had been panic. Why hadn't she seen this coming? Put up barriers? Guard herself, somehow? She couldn't breathe, but she tried to pretend that she could. She needed time to think, get a strategy together, deal with this.

"Olivia?" he said again, alarm and concern in his voice. "What's wrong?" Tell me! I can see that you're not fine."

His hands, they were on her. Touching her face, her neck. What was he doing? Baby-blue eyes faced her, searching her face, so full of concern. There were so many secrets there. So many things she didn't know.

A shiver ran through her and he noticed. Of course he noticed. "Peter," she breathed, "I..."

His hands were strong now. She didn't know what he was doing, but he took her hand and guided her to the back seat. She hadn't realized she was still shivering. The engine was on, a tune playing on the radio. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her skin.

His arms went around her. There were tears on her face, tears she didn't remember shedding. "Shh..." he was saying, "It's OK. You're alright now."

Somehow, through the haze of her panic, his message got through. Nothing, absolutely nothing was wrong. He was here, solid, tangible, alive. And yet the tears didn't stop. As if sensing the desperation he could not possibly know about, he held her tighter. It felt so good to have him so close. But now she knew, without a doubt, and there was no going back.

Peter Bishop was in her heart. Not like love, not like John, not like anything she had known before. Something more permanent, more concrete. As if there had never been anything there but him. Her defenses crumbled when he was around, leaving her bare, exposed. It felt so different. John had been love, sure, but it was a simpler kind of love. There were understandings between them, barriers they knew not to cross. With Peter... Well, she didn't know if there were any.

---

As soon as she recovered, Olivia felt newborn. Perhaps, she reasoned, something had finally snapped in her to make her forget, or let go of, past ghosts. Peter's hand stroked her hair lightly. The rhythm of his movements matched her heartbeat. She felt calm, refreshed.

He felt her considerably relax in his arms. "Liv?" he whispered, as if he was afraid a louder noise would break the spell.

Olivia took in a deep breath to steady herself, then sat up.

"What happened?" he asked again, concern shadowing his features. Concern and something else. He was trying to read her. Get information from her face that she was not telling. She wondered what he saw.

"I, um, realized something. That's all." She would have looked away, but a good liar never does that. "About the case. It reminded me of something. Personal." She paused, for effect. He seemed to buy it.

"Care to share?" He was being himself again. He had a twinkle in his eyes - his tell tale sign that he enjoyed not knowing. He liked the chase, this looking for information.

She gave him her best 'Olivia is being charming' smile and shook her head. Coyly, playfully, she looked away. "No, not really."

"What are you not telling me? I know there's something. I just can't quite put my finger on it."  
He was taking in _her _tell tale signs. Probing. Trying to see what he could get out of her.

"Don't worry about it," she patted his knee, "I'm all good now."

Her hand was on the door and the lock clicked. She was ready to go back to the driver's seat and head back to headquarters.

His arms went around her waist. He pulled her back in the car, refusing to let go. "Now wait just a minute - "

If he was anyone else, his nose would have been punched in and he would have been screaming bloody murder. Holding down a federal agent isn't the best idea int he world.

Except his breath was close and she could smell his cologne. There's something to be said about designer labels. They're not as ineffective as some people take them to be.

"Go ahead," he threatened, "Fight me off."

"Peter..."

She was looking at him now. She knew that expression. Was he following a hunch? Had she been that transparent? This wasn't the first time she had had nervous breakdowns around him. It wasn't exactly news.

She attempted to squirm away, careful not to hurt him. His grip tightened. "Come on," he said, "Get away."

She couldn't brink herself to throw a hit. She imagined it causing amplified physical pain to herself. But if she didn't, he would know.

There was no time to think things through anymore. He was winning, and his mouth on her own was just the beginning. She resisted,at first. But he was so insistent and so damn good at what he was doing. The combination of rough and smooth was driving her mad. He held her upper lip with his, then her bottom and then - his tongue - it just brushed the rim of her lip. Nothing atrocious. Just a light touch, fleeting, barely felt. Then he pressed his face against hers, crushing their lips together. When she began to respond, to demand more, he complied all too easily.

Olivia Dunham - Marine trained, FBI special agent - to brace herself against the seats when he took her face in his hands and parted her lips. There was no mistaking the thoughts going through their heads as they finished off that kiss.

Her eyes, she was sure, were wide when he finally opened his eyes. They had remained closed, as if he was concentrating very hard a while after their kiss had ended.

"You looked scared, when we walked away from the deal with the Russian. Were you afraid - for me?" He wasn't trying to read her anymore. He just looked surprised, but still on guard.

"I..." she really didn't know what she was supposed to say. His intuition was dead on.

"Now listen to me," he began, then kissed her, before continuing, "I am the last thing you should worry about when we're out there, OK? I can take care of myself. Now granted, you have the fun. But that's for your protection. You look after yourself first, do you understand me?"

He fixed her with an expectant glare and did not release it until she nodded. "If you ever get hurt because of me..." He shook his head, as if he couldn't bare the thought. He was holding her tightly against him, not so much as if he was afraid she was breakable, but as if she would shatter before his eyes if he let go.

"Peter," she said, "I think we have a lot of things we need to sort out."  
He chuckled drily.

"However, right now we have to go back to headquarters and deliver a report of what we did today."

He nodded, not meeting her eyes. They both got out of the back seat.


	2. Deals We Make

**Deals We Make**

Olivia crossed the expansive lobby of the FBI building. She flashed her badge to the security guards, put her gun and her phone in a tray and stepped through the metal detector.

Charlie put a cup of coffee in her hands as soon as she buzzed herself inside the division's floor.

"You look... rested," he remarked as they walked to their offices. "Finally rid of those nightmares?"

She sat down, turned on her computer, waited for the login screen. Ctrl - Alt - Del. "What nightmares?"

"You know... John - "

"Yes, they're gone."

He brightened. "That's good to hear." He took a sip of his coffee. "What changed?"

She shrugged. "Don't know." She could do this all day.

"Liv..." Something caught his attention, distracted his chain of thought. "Oh look, the nerds are here."

Her computer buzzed happily as she checked her inbox. Junk, junk, new coffee filter regulations from Broyles, more junk. You'd think the FBI could give its employees some decent spam filtering software.

Somewhere in the background, she heard Walter saying something about protein denaturing, along with the name Agent Fudge - she assumed he was talking to Agent Flannigan.

She looked up. Walter waved at her like they hadn't seen each other in ages. She smiled broadly. Peter was nowhere to be seen.

"Forgot to tell you - you have a meeting with Broyles and Bishop in the conference room." He took a sip of his coffee. "Now."

Charlie winked as Olivia shot him a look while she sped past him.

"Agent Dunham, glad you could join us."

"Sorry sir. Hello, Peter."

"Olivia." Baby-blue eyes met hers briefly. He looked away before she could see anything in them.

The Russian, it turned out, had fled from the country. They knew he was headed for the Middle-East, but there was no way too tell why he was there and whom he was meeting.

Peter looked nonplussed as he listened to Olivia talk strategy with her boss. If the man came back to the States, they established Peter would make contact, insist on more concrete terms for their deal. He would need to see the merchandise before wiring him the money, etc, etc.

"Mr Bishop, do you think you can handle yourself around this man?" Broyles fixed Peter with a meaningful glare.

"Like I told you in the report, he's not a particularly hard nut to crack. He's not stupid, or naive, but he's desperate and he trusts me." Still, he did not look at Olivia. "I don't think I'll have any problems."

The thousand a minute snapshots of how wrong things could go in a mission like this nearly blinded her. That feeling of panic returned - she tried to keep her breathing steady, but she could feel her cheeks flushing.

Broyles looked through some papers. Blue eyes were on her and he saw it all.

She couldn't place his expression. Broyles looked up. He handed them each a paper. "These are our man's last known affiliates. I want you to find them, contact them. Mr Bishop, you need to leave a trail of your fake self around this man's entourage. He needs to know you've been checking on him. Adds to your credibility. Agent Dunham, just be there in case things get ugly."

"Sir, wouldn't it be safer if I went undercover too? As Peter's associate? That way I can be closer, in case the situation spirals out of control."

Broyles seemed to give this some thought. "Mr Bishop?"

Peter shook his head. "Too suspicious. It's not good practice to involve women in this kind of business. Our Russian will pick up on it right away."

"Okay then, it's settled. Dunham, you must stay close, but never seen. Good day to both of you."

Olivia pressed her lips together to keep from commenting. Broyles stepped out and she followed suit.

Peter walked behind her, down the corridor that separated the conference room from the rest of the offices. He was so close she could smell his cologne.

She liked to think of her instincts as quick and responsive. They had not let her down too many times. Today, though, they seemed to be stunted. A pair of arms pulled her into the janitor's closet.

"For a place that's supposed to specialize in security, leaving the janitor's door un-monitored seems like a pretty big loop-hole." He took a breath, then continued. "So tell me, Olivia, what the hell was that back there?"

"I was just..."

"You know better than that. You know undercover for you is not an option. Why would you want to sabotage this case like that? What's the worst that can happen to me? They'll kill me? Like I said, I can take care of myself."

"Well, if you can dodge bullets, more power to you." The room was poorly lit, but she could see well enough to make out the angry expression on his face.

He was pinning her down with his hands on her forearms. Her fight training skills told her to kick him where it hurt then walk away. Resume the day. However, she knew from his squared shoulders that a fight would not resolve this discussion.

Suddenly, he let her go. The anger was gone. He took a step backwards. A hand went over to his face, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said, so quietly she barely heard him. "I'm not handling this well."

"No, no you're not." She crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"Shit, OK. Can we talk over lunch? This really doesn't feel like the sort of place for adult conversations."

She took her time answering. It was hard to concentrate, with him so close. "Fitzgerald's. In half an hour."

He nodded and she went out first.

Charlie had slapped a post-it note in the middle of her monitor. "Astrid called re bio chem results. Took Walter back."

She could always count on Charlie to do the right thing. She wondered if _she _was capable of that. When it came to Peter, she didn't know how to distinguish right from wrong anymore.

* * *

Fitzgerald's was a quiet, dim pub near the FBI building. A slow tune played on the speakers. She liked it because it invited, or rather demanded a calm and quiet state of mind. Its dark corners held your worries, at least while you were there.

She found Peter in a corner booth, nursing a beer. He lifted the glass to his lips, took a decent sip, then set it back down. He wiped away the moisture from his upper lip with his thumb.

Olivia swallowed, then sat down.

"I don't like you working undercover, alone. There's no other way to say this, so here it goes. If something goes wrong and he finds out your real identity, you and Walter are as good as dead."

There was a smirk on his face, but she did not let it distract her.

"You're also extremely unqualified, from an objective point of view. You have no training, no access to a gun... There are a million reasons why this is a bad idea."

He shifted in his side of the booth. "This newfound extreme concern of yours for my well being has seriously shitty timing. While I can't fully explain to you how or why I'm more than qualified for this assignment, just know that if this Russian ever finds the real me, well... He should give me a call."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Look - I know some pretty skilled people, who can built layers upon layers of fabricated identities. I can keep detectives busy for years."

She nodded, not comforted. "What if you get killed? What's going to happen to Walter? Who's going to take care of him? Have you given any thought to that at all?"

"As a matter of fact, I have. I wouldn't be doing this if I wasn't one hundred percent sure I'll make it out in one piece."

She shook her head, knowing this was one argument she couldn't win with him. After all, she had very little material with which to convince him not to go through with this. 'But I can't lose you' wasn't really going to cut it.

"I'll make you a deal," she began to say, almost deterred by the smile on his face. "If you want me as your backup during this mission - "

And there it was. The tell. Exactly what she had been looking for. The stare. So he really was staking his life and the mission on _her _ability to keep him alive.

" - Which I'm assuming is the only reason why you're taking this risk, then you must promise me that at the first sign of imminent danger, you will let me pull you of this case without a fuss."

For a moment, he seemed to consider what she'd said. "And if I don't agree?"

She sat back, keeping her eyes on him. "I won't be there to save your sorry ass. Or Charlie, since he's part of the package."

"Does Broyles know about this? Are you sure you should be making these kinds of promises without his permission?"

"He'll understand. Trust me."

It took him some time, but eventually he nodded his assent, then dropped his eyes down to his hands. His eyebrows came together. She could tell the subject had changed. "Are we ever going to talk about what happened in the car?"

"Why?" she demanded, aware that he was the one seeking answers.

"Well, I know you're not the kind of woman who accepts unasked for... advances, yet there was no fight in you the other day. I'd like to know why."

She shrugged, not needing to look at him to know how unsatisfactory her non-answer was. "If I remember correctly, I kissed you back." She resisted the urge to look at her hands like a schoolgirl. Instead, she kept her eyes fixed on the bar, wondering where the waiter was.

She did not want to read too much into his questions. She did not need a military mind to know that he already knew the answers to his own queries. He was driving home the point that it had been a one time phenomenon. It had to be. Sure, it was good, but it couldn't go anywhere beyond that. He had thought about it, considered the alternatives and decided to stick to the only possibility that made sense. She could always trust Peter to make the right choice. His ideas about right and wrong weren't always so black and white, but when it came to his personal life, he had no problem choosing.

Olivia tried to convince herself that this wasn't rejection. But the unmistakable taste of it was on her tongue. She tried to wash it down with the coke and vodka that had appeared in front of her at some point, but the sensation lingered.

"Olivia... Look, I know I shouldn't have but I figured if you didn't want it, you would've put up a fight that I could not win. So I took my chances."

"I guess the odd were in your favor that day."

"Yet I feel like you're punishing me for it."

"Punishing you?"

"I'm just trying to understand if I should be drawing any conclusions. About, well, us." He waved a hand at the space in between the two of them.

She looked at him, surprised. He did not look distant and detached like she had imagined him to be. He seemed hopeful. "Nothing is written in stone."

Peter rewarded her with a smile. It reached his eyes, making them brighter, somehow. "So, Agent Dunham, are you saying what I think you're saying?"

It was hard for Olivia to imagine that this man sitting across from her was the same one she had kissed in the car. That one had been dark, hidden in shadows, alert and watchful. This one was carefree, with his heart on his sleeve and a smile on his face. He looked young. Much younger than the man in the car.

"Well, Mr Bishop, we'll see."


	3. Will I Ever Know

**Will I Ever Know**

Olivia looked around her apartment, trying to find something else to scrub. She did not have so much free time very often, so when she did, there were chores to be done. Her skin was pruning from her own perspiration inside the yellow gloves. She brushed away a stray strand of hair with the back of her wrist. There were beads of sweat on her forehead.

The Russian was now in Eastern Europe, lost in some Slavic country. The Interpol people were confident that they would find him soon, which meant it would take them at least another week.

Peter had been busy contacting this man's known associates, with Olivia listening in somewhere close. There had not been any real danger yet. None of those people were 'squeaky clean,' but Peter was good at not raising red flags. Now that all the interviewing was over, Olivia had nothing to do except sit around and worry about what was coming next. Frankly, she wasn't into sitting around.

Her cell phone ran, but the water from faucet in the bathroom obscured the noise. She let the sink fill with water, then dumped the rag she had been using to scrub the shower walls in it. She let the grime diffuse a little into the water before she scrubbed it clean, put it to dry, then let the water drain.

The door bell rang, but she was flushing away some extra hairs she had spotted down between the sink and the toilet.

She felt more than heard the thunderous pounding on her front door. The walls around her seemed to vibrate.

"Olivia Marcy Dunham, open this door or I'll - "

"You'll what?" she asked while she swung open the door and removed the cleaning gloves at the same time. "Bash the door open? Hardly your style, isn't it? You forgot to bring your pick-locks again?"

He stared at her for a moment before his brain caught up with what was happening. "You don't answer your phone anymore?" He pushed past her, not waiting for an invitation. "I thought you were dead or something." A line was forming between his eyebrows. He put a hand there, to smooth it away. "Jesus, Olivia..."

"As you can see, I'm fine."

"Yes, yes you are. Which means I can now be angry at you and myself for freaking out like this."

She shot him a skeptical look. "Do you want a drink?"

He shook his head. "I don't think that would be the proper substance for what I'm feeling right now."

The hair at the back of her neck prickled and her senses were alert. She knew how to spot danger when it knocked on her door. Even if it smelled like Peter Bishop. "You need a drink."

She pulled out a bottle of liquor from the top cabinet in the kitchen and poured him a double.

"Who keeps whiskey next to the parsley jar?"

"People who live in apartments."

"Or those with no respect for the fine methods of - "

She stuck a baby carrot in his mouth to shut him up. He bit down on it, the sound of him chewing filling the room. He made a face as he swallowed. "Whiskey and carrot. Ugh. Was that really necessary?"

Even from across the kitchen island she could smell the leather jacket and the cool breeze cologne he was wearing. The alcohol in her own glass touched her lips, but she did not open her mouth to let it in. Now was not the time for that.

"So what are you doing here?"

Blue eyes that maybe were green looked at her. Normally, she was good at reading people. His expression was indecipherable.

"I came to say 'hi'."

She would have laughed. For some reason, it was amusing how disparately she had hoped he would do just that. "Hi?"

"Yup."

Her window was open. The sound of the trees swaying filtered through the silence that now filled the room.

He looked undecided, as if he had had an idea in his head, but now it didn't seem so clear. He kept his eyes on some space in front of him while his thumb drew circles on the glass. He was easier to figure out when their eyes did not meet.

"Walter is in one of his singing phases again. He's warbling Wagner at the top of his lungs and to be honest, he was never my favorite composer."

Olivia nodded. "I hope DiGiorno's good enough for you. You can stay here tonight, if you don't feel like going back to the hotel room."

His involuntary expression of relief told her that this visit had absolutely nothing to do with her.

"I appreciate it Olivia, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. I haven't even put the pizza in the oven."

He poured himself another drink while she unwrapped the frozen bread, careful not to let any of the ingredients fall out. "Can I ask you something?" he inquired.

"Sure."

"How did it start, with you and John? I mean, when did you know that he was what you wanted?"

"I'm not sure. I think the minute he walked into the office, sat down at the desk opposite mine and said 'Hello, partner." I wasn't attracted to him like that, at the time. It was the way his face changed, when he looked at me. Like he was sure, even before he knew me, that I would be good at my job. It made me feel like that's really who I was, someone who always knew what to do. Of course, that did not turn out to be so true."

She put the pizza in the over, then pressed a few buttons for the right settings. "So there you have it."

He was silent for a minute. "The dynamics between law enforcement partners... sometimes it completely eludes me. You form a bond, two complete strangers, in an environment that by its nature strives to break bonds - to get to the truth, for justice, whatever."

"It's about a common goal, a single driving force. The hostility around is what strengthens the bond. Both individuals grow strong because of it. Why do you think this partner thing was instituted? The unity is stronger than the individual."

He waved a hand in dismissal. "Kay, kay I get it."

"You asked."

"One thing I don't get, though, is how come you grew so attached to me. Everything in your nature probably tells you that I am not who you'd like to think I am. Yet you resist that instinct, even if you put your own feelings at risk. You see, after everything I've seen you do, I know you can force yourself to think in black and white terms. In fact, I'm willing to bet that's how you think most of the time."

"Is that so?" She didn't like it, the way he was taking her apart.

"I wonder if I'll ever know."

"Know what?"

"What you're really thinking."

"When it comes to you or Walter, I've learned that an honest answer to a direct question can save me from a lot of uncomfortable experiments."

He got off the stool he was sitting on and walked around the island until he was on the other side. "So if I asked you something, you'd answer truthfully?"

Why was it that while he was reading her like an open book, she could not get a single line off of the expression on his face? A hint of a smile was on his lips. She had to keep him talking, find out what he was up to.

"What is it you want to know?"

"I might be wrong about this, so feel free to correct me any time, but last time I mentioned our little incident in the car you turned... cryptic."

"Did I?" She did her best to backtrack. "I thought that conversation ended well."

"I'm pretty sure there's something you're not telling me." He put a hand up. "Don't even try to lie out of that one. You see," as he said this, he put a hand on the counter beside him while inching closer, "it wasn't the kiss that gave you away. You were too in control. Before that, the way you held me... I've never known anyone to need me like you did then. For the life of me, Olivia, I can't figure out why. What could have possibly set that off?"

He was getting close, both physically ad metaphorically. On anyone else, his gestures would have seemed threatening. She could have reached, with her left hand, for one of the steak knives. They were close. If he would have been thinking about them too, he would have glanced in their direction. Baby-blue maybe green eyes kept her in a trance-like state as he got close enough to touch.

"I just didn't like the look of the Russian. He rattled me a little."

"So the real reason is important enough to lie for.

_Damn._

"I really don't think you'd want to know."

He raised an eyebrow. He actually seemed curious. "Why not?"

"If I know you at all," she began, then gave him an intense look of her own, challenging him to prove her wrong, "You are either going to run, or you will..." she paused, feeling the bitter taste of her own words, "Despise me for putting you in what to you will be an impossible situation."

She could almost hear the alarm bells tun on in his head. He shifted his weight to evenly distribute it on both his legs. "Try me."

She took a tentative step towards him. The scent of his leather jacket was strong. He did not move as she slid it off his shoulders and tossed it on a nearby stool. He simply watched, alert.

"Olivia?"

She smiled. Sure, it was a bad idea, but Peter was a bad boy. No girl could resist that.

She was so close now that she could feel his breath on her hair. She raised herself on the tips of her toes and kissed him. He inhaled, slowly, through his nose. His eyes closed and he bent down, just a little, to make up for the height difference. He tasted of whiskey. It drove her mad, wanting more.

His hands were on her, pulling her close, pressing her body against his. "Olivia?" he breathed between kissed, but did not stop.

She breathed out a "What?" without pulling away.

He guided her to the nearest wall and held her there. "You're driving me insane, you know that?"

"Really?" She nibbled on his upper lip, enjoying her newfound power. It took him some time to recover.

"Did you really think I would want to run away from this? From you?" His arms were around her waist.

She shrugged. "This is going to get complicated. I know you run from complicated, so..."

"Complicated? You do realize that there's a very good chance that you won't like me at all once you get to know me. Then you'll see how very uncomplicated it will be to forget all about me and move on. But," he paused for another kiss, "If that doesn't happen, then I'll consider myself the luckiest man in the world. There is nothing complicated about that."

Her stomach, on its own accord, began doing some sort of jumping jack activity while she thought of a proper response and came up empty. In the end, she just nodded. "I think I need to get the pizza out of the oven."

They ate in a comfortable silence, sitting close at the table. Afterward they switched from whiskey to red wine and began to talk. He told her about Walter and the numerous insane things he was doing at the lab. She told him about her childhood with her sister, what life was like before Fringe and how she had spent her military days.

They were on the couch, the TV droning on in the background, when her eyelids began to droop. Maybe she had managed to exhaust herself after all. His fingers were playing with her hair while the wine set a pleasant buzz in her brain. She felt herself slipping and before she knew it, her head rested on his shoulder as she dozed away.


	4. Heart in the Right Place

**Heart in the Right Place**

Her head felt a little heavy as she opened her eyes. Judging by the light in the room, it was probably early morning. She stretched out a hand, trying to hang on to that sleep state for a little while longer. A foreign grunt came from somewhere on her bed. It didn't sound threatening or menacing, so her mind dismissed it. Something - someone - snuggled up beside her. She turned and a stole a peek. Peter Bishop's face rested on her pillow.

She moved closer, seeking out the warmth of his body. They were both still fully clothed. She did not remember getting to the bed.

Before she got out from under the covers, she took a moment to look at him again. Ten years had fallen away form his face. The line between his eyebrows was gone, his lips weren't pursed because of some intense negative emotion he had to feel and his eyes were closed, which meant that his alertness was temporarily on hold. There was one thing that remained - the smile lines by his eyes. Smile lines, she imagined, that came from another time in his life, one less riddled with scientific phenomena and terrorists.

She got out of bed, slowly so as not to wake him and went about her morning. She was both relieved and surprised that the night had not progressed any further. It wasn't like her to pass up opportunities. Perhaps age had taught her a thing or two about control and patience.

While the coffee was brewing, she heard the shower go off. Peter was awake.

A few minutes later he strode into her kitchen with a towel wrapped around his middle.

"Good morning, sunshine," he called out.

He smelled of soap and her shampoo. A smile cracked her lips, because she liked him anyway. Of course, the fact that he was shirtless in her kitchen did not hurt either. She turned around and poured herself some coffee.

"Hello."

Her back was to him when he put his arms around her waist, brushed the hair away from her neck and kissed the sensitive skin. There were no further inquiries, no may I's and would it be weird's. Just a simple gesture done because he felt like it. Somewhere in the back of her mind Olivia noted that someday, she would have to talk to him about doing things without her permission. For now, though, she would just enjoy the tickles down her spine. She turned around to face him.

His eyes were an indecipherable color. The morning light washed away some of the blue, but they weren't quite green either. He was looking at her. She leaned in closer, trying to see better, but somewhere along the way she forgot what she had been after and their lips met.

This time, for the first time, he had to stop her with his hands on her shoulders.

"What's wrong?" she asked, perplexed.

He smiled and looked away for a second before turning back to her. "Nothing's wrong."

It took her longer than it should have but eventually it clicked. He was doing a very good job at hiding a blush.

"Oh." It really didn't take her long to decide on the next course of action.

He saw it on her face, as clear as day.

* * *

The silence and quiet was not bound to last forever. The Russian, whom they now knew as Vladimir Lugovick, was back in the States. He knew Peter had been looking for him, so the next step would be to make contact with him again.

There was another meeting, same plaza, with only Olivia for cover. The man would have spotted any other agents. They could not let him escape.

Olivia was dressed in business attire, with a trench coat and a pair of sunglasses to shield her eyes from the sun. She fit in well with all the other suit women around her. A book was in her hand - she was engrossed by it.

Her nerve endings were still prickly despite her confidence in Peter' abilities. The lump in her throat, the one she had been carrying since Broyles announced that Lugovick was in town, did not make this any easier.

Something she did not immediately recognize pulled her eyes away from Peter. Without moving her head, she scanned the surrounding park. Nothing unusual. Just to be sure, because the feeling wasn't going away, she scanned the park again.

He really didn't look like much. Just a guy out with his dog. He had a handsome, open face with a fair complexion. His eyes, however, bore holes into Peter's back. His posture didn't sound any alarms, but he was too intent on the two men in the middle of the plaza. There was no mistaking what he was looking at.

So Lugovick had brought one of his own.

Olivia kept focused. She was ready to point, aim and shoot at any moment but she knew it wouldn't come to that. Not this early in the game. This new presence did present a new problem, however. The exit strategy. Any wrong move on her part and the operation would be blown to bits.

The only solution was the one thing she did not feel like doing today. To walk away. The meeting must have been nearing to a close. If she left now, before Peter, there was no reason for anyone to assume anything. The car was far enough away that no one, not even someone who intended to follow would pick up on the link.

She cursed under her breath as she pretended to check her watch. She dashed across the plaza, careful not look like she wasn't trying to interrupt the meeting. She caught a whiff of a familiar scent. It reassured her. She walked on, fighting her instincts to look back. He would be fine. He had to be.

Twenty excruciatingly long minutes later she saw Peter round the corner. A smile was on his lips and there was a light sprint in his walk. Maybe if she hadn't been feeling so rotten about this whole situation she would have smiled back.

"He wants to make a deal with me," he told her as soon as he got into the car. "He bought into our scenario."

Olivia nodded, putting the car in drive.

"Hey," he reached over to her, touching her cheek with his hand. "Everything is going well."

"I know - I'm fine. I'm glad you'll have something to report."

He chuckled. "You're a lousy liar."

"You and I should play poker sometime, then you'll see what kind of a liar I am."

That amused him, but she could sense he was still watching her.

"So when is this deal happening?"

"I have to go to a preliminary meet & greet. Shake hands with his associates, that kind of thing. I gave him the number to the FBI line your people gave me. He said he'd call."

"Associates?"

"Yeah. He's not alone on this. It might be a bigger operation that we originally thought. If we could take down the entire group, even better."

"It also complicates things. It means he has eyes in more places. One of them was in the park today. Blond fellow with a dog."

"Hostile?"

She shook her head. "No, he was just observing. He did not look like a bodyguard."

"I'll keep an eye out for him, at the next meeting."

They passed the rest of the day at the FBI headquarters, giving their reports and talking strategy with the team Broyles had assigned to their case.

* * *

Olivia knew of that natural female feeling of wanting to protect that which you care about. She had felt it many times - for her sister, her niece, Charlie. She knew it as this mild, gentle force that made her worry unnecessarily from time to time.

For Peter, it was amplified to ten times its normal size.

* * *

Lugovick was taking his time. In a week, Olivia, Peter and the team had exhausted every course of action they could think of. She knew every scenarionthey had discussed by heart. There really was nothing more for them to do at this point.

"So," Charlie rolled his hair over to her desk, "Wanna go for a drink at the Fitz? I'm dying to get out of here."

Actually, there was no reason for them to be in the office today. Agents assigned to undercover cases were expected to keep odd working hours. Olivia nodded, reaching for her things.

A rum and coke landed in front of her the instant she sat at the bar. She thanked the barman with a smile.

"You look happier than I've seen you in ages, Liv." Charlie sat next to her and ordered himself a beer.

"And that's...a bad thing?"

"I'm as content as a clam, you know that. But as your partner and all, I'm a little disappointed in you. You haven't told me what's causing all of this."

Charlie was a smart man. Olivia knew that if this had been about anyone else, it would have taken him an instant to figure out the answers. However, this time he was putting all assumptions aside. He reserved speculations for cases. When it came to his friends, he preferred to find out the truth straight from the horse's mouth. Olivia appreciated that in him.

"It's... I have no idea what it is, actually. I just know that the world has color again."

He frowned. "Forget the what. How about you start with 'who'?"

She imagined the ghost of Peter's touch on her skin. A week had passed but her body still wore the glow his hands had created. She realized that she missed him, even though she had seen him at the office almost every day.

"You're going to think I'm crazy."

"Oh, no." Apparently, the word 'crazy' lit up a lightbulb.

"What?"

"It's Peter Bishop, isn't it?"

Olivia felt a blush spread over her cheeks. She stole a glance in Charlie's direction. He was smiling.

"I think he'll do you some good. He's a little unhinged and I'll admit that the guy gives me the creeps sometimes. Maybe that's why you two are good together. He's different."

"Don't you mean a criminal?"

"No, no," Charlie shook his head, "He's many things, but not that. His heart is in the right place. He's not someone you can profile, Liv. You know you've tried. It's not working because Bishop doesn't follow patterns. He's not susceptible to habits and behaviors like we are. He doesn't play things by ear - he uses the information from his environment to adapt to it. He doesn't take it for granted." He took a sip of his beer.

"You figured all that out from spending a week with him?"

"Well, it was obvious. I also read his psych file."

"And?"

"Sound as a rock. Like I said, heart in the right place."

"Thanks Charlie, I'll keep that in mind."


	5. Dreams and Reality

**Dreams and Reality**

Clear, bright sunlight filtered through the window curtains of her bedroom. His eyes, with their blue and green nuances held her still while he undressed her. First, her shirt, followed by her pants. Lastly, everything else. He was meticulous about it, careful.

She slid his towel from around his waist as his hands cupped her face and he kissed her. Her pulse quickened, the anticipation building.

He lowered her onto the bed, never breaking eye contact. The touch of his skin was warm on her own.

* * *

Her eyes flew open. It was still dark outside. She rolled onto her side, a hand going up to her forehead. Always the same dream, a replay of that bright morning. It now seemed so long ago.

It wasn't anyone's fault, really. The occasion had never quite materialized again. Walter was keeping Peter busy with research and experiments. Broyles had asked Olivia to assist one of the other divisions in a case, while they waited on their own.

Olivia didn't mind the extra work. It did, however, mean that she saw less of Peter.

* * *

It was a Thursday, a little less than a week since last the last time she had seen him when he called her cellphone.

"Dunham speaking."

"Olivia, it's Peter."

"Hi."

"What are you doing tonight?"

She hesitated. "Um..."

"Fantastic. I've made dinner reservations at Le Resto for 7 pm. I'll be the devilishly handsome man with the red rose. Do you need directions?"

"I know where it is."

"Great! See you there." Click. Just like that. She sighed and went back to her magazine. The words on the page looked like foreign hieroglyphs.

* * *

He was at the bar. The leather jacket was gone, replaced by a gray shirt and a tailored black blazer. A smile brightened his eyes. Olivia resisted the urge to stare.

She did, however, notice the meaningful looks an attractive brunette was giving him from across the bar. The woman's eyes narrowed as Olivia approached.

The rose in his hand was crimson red, it's color standing in contrast with its surroundings.

"Good evening, Olivia."

He was close now, intoxicating. He took her hand, bringing it to his lips. Then, with deliberate slowness, he held out the rose in front of him. "For you."

She took the flower from him, feeling ridiculously feminine in the black dress she was wearing.

She put the rose on the table next to the cutlery as soon as they were seated. It looked less formidable here, where the light was dim. A small candlelight flickered in the middle of the table.

"Peter," she began, eying the red petals of the stem, "Why are we here?"

"What do you mean?" He looked right at her, his face a mask of pure curiosity. He was hiding something.

"Is there something you wanted to talk about?" She kept her tone neutral, calm. Her pulse was higher than it should have been, her mind buzzing with possibilities, most of which made her want to crawl under a rock and never come out. Something was wrong.

The wine came before the food. He tasted it. "There is, actually."

She stayed very still. Time seemed suspended, dependent on his every word.

"I have reason to believe that Lugovick will contact me again, soon."

"But he hasn't yet?"

"No." He paused. "When he does, you know what I'll have to do."

"Go undercover. We've been over this."

"Right, well, I wanted to have some time with you alone before it all begins."

She nodded, knowing there was more. "Why?"

"If things don't go as planned - "

She shot him a look. On its own accord, his hand went toward her own, his fingertips touching her skin.

"If things don't go well," he continued, "And I'll have to switch on my contingency plans, there's a very good chance that you and I won't see each other for a very long time."

This was the point in the conversation where she was supposed to agree with him and tell him it was part of the job. Everyone went through it. "What are you saying?" was the only thing she managed to get out.

"I just wish we had more time."

Her game face was back on. She smiled at him, unfolding her hands. "Nothing will happen, Peter."

"Maybe," he shrugged, "But you never know." Tonight, it seemed, the sharpness of his gaze was blunted. He was laid back, resigned from fighting with the world. There was something still breathtaking about him, even without the attitude.

At the end of the evening, they went back to her apartment. Although Peter Bishop was not love for Olivia, that night she knew that he probably could have been.

The moonlight filtered through the curtains, illuminating his skin as she traced the valleys of his muscles with her fingers. His eyes were closed, although he wasn't sleeping.

"Olivia?" he breathed out, his voice raspy, the residues of pleasure still lingering in his body.

She kissed his shoulder, letting her hand rest on his chest.

"What is this?" he asked.

She knew what he was talking about. "I don't know. Attraction?"

He thought about it. "Nothing more?"

She shook her head. "It doesn't feel like love."

He did not say anything more. Eventually, his breathing evened out while he fell into a deep sleep. She counted the beats of his heart under her palm for a long time before she did the same.

* * *

Thick, gray smoke was everywhere. Olivia struggled to stand up. She couldn't go anywhere, because she couldn't see. The smoke made her throat hurt and her eyes water. She took a few steps forward, trying to get her bearings. She looked down at her feet, recognizing the pattern on the cement. She was in a familiar plaza.

There was thunder overhead. Big, heavy raindrops landed on the top of her head, then her shoulders and her feet until she was drenched. The rain made the smoke go away leaving behind a dark, colorless world.

The sound of the falling droplets obscured any noise other than her footsteps. She could see now, even through the dim light. The clouds above were a dark gray.

A bolt of lighting illuminated her surroundings, then ground-splitting thunder seemed to stir the trees. Right in front of her, in the very middle of the plaza lay a lone figure.

Olivia broke into a sprint, the heavy rain getting in her eyes as she sped forward. Her stomach lurched violently when she got close enough to identify the figure. A pool of blood was beside him, its rich, dark red the only color in this dim, colorless world. His eyes were closed, his face serene. He looked so young.

She fell to her knees, the scream she had meant to let out stuck in her throat.

* * *

Olivia awoke with a gasp. She took in deep breaths, trying to steady the heavy, fast pace of her heartbeat.

"Liv, are you ok?" a sleepy, warm voice mutter from beside her. Without waiting for an answer he slide closer and wrapped an arm around her waist.

She nodded, though she was aware he could not see her.

It took him a moment to come out of his sleep state. "Hey," he said, his words now clear, "What's going on?"

Tears slid down her face without her permission. He touched her cheek, feeling the moisture. His body tensed.

"It's nothing," she whispered, "Just a nightmare. Sorry to wake you."

He brushed away her tears with his thumbs. She knew he was looking at her, scanning for clues.

"Want to tell me what it was about?"

She shook her head. Even remembering made her want to cry again.

He seemed to understand, letting it go. He stayed close by her and began to hum a slow, melancholy tune. Eventually she drifted off into a light, dreamless sleep.

* * *

His phone rang on a Tuesday. It was Lugovick. They were to meet the next day, at 6pm at the address he gave him. The FBI was tapped into the line, so Olivia's phone rang 30 seconds after the call came through. They were both to report at headquarters.

They did not tap Peter or bug him in any way. They figured that Lugovick was probably smart enough to have Peter swept before he even said hello to him. This meeting was too crucial, so they decided not to take the risk. Lugovick was showing enough trust for Peter by inviting him to a private meeting. If Peter proved to be a fake or a Fed, obviously the deal would be off and, quite possibly, Peter would wind up shot between the eyes by a .22 magnum. Of course, there was always the possibility that Lugovick was any kind of crazy and he already knew what was going on. If that was true, then the only reason he would invite Peter anywhere outside the public eye was to off him.

So they needed Peter to be as authentic as possible. They gave him keys to his own car, something they had prepared from the beginning. The black Mustang shone under the lights of the parking lot. As Peter walked next to it, his whole stance changed, molding to match the car.

This was going to be no ride into the sunset but judging by looks alone, it sure seemed that way. Peter's lean form against the car, leather jacket over his shoulder, a pair of hot wheels to drive in. To the lot custodian next to Olivia, he probably looked like he was enjoying himself.

Olivia knew that the reason his eyes looked darker and his eyebrows were more arched was not because he was trying to be cool. It was because he had not expected this. Deep down, he never thought it would go this far.

His cologne, the one she had put on him right before they came to headquarters, was still on her fingers. She could not move. She felt rooted to the he got in the car, right after taking one last look at her, she felt as if she was turning into stone. The engine roared to life. He almost made it to the exit ramp before he put the car in reverse and stopped right in front of her. With the engine still running he got out, walked around and took her face in his hands.

"Don't you dare worry about me, do you understand?"

She nodded. Even that simple motion was painful.

He kissed her. For a moment, the rest of the world stopped existing.

He drove away quickly after that, disappearing out of the lot before she could turn her head to see him go. It was better this way.

* * *

As soon as she went back upstairs, Broyles met her by the elevators. "I need to speak to you in my office, right away."

She nodded and followed him inside.

His office was meticulously neat, as always. There was evidence that it was often used for work and brooding, but even that was neatly stacked. Despite the cleanliness, the space was not impersonal. A coffee mug sat on a coaster next to the keyboard. The couch, made of soft leather, looked like it had been used. There were pictures of friends and colleagues on the walls. One, Olivia noticed, was particularly close to his desk. It was of him and Nina Sharp, shaking hands over what looked like a contract. Olivia recognized the Massive Dynamic conference room.

"Sit down," he instructed her, settling on his own chair.

She did so, on a chair across his desk.

He put his hands together, elbows on the arm rests. He seemed to regard her for a long time before he spoke. Olivia stared back at him. She could not imagine what this was about.

"As you know, the personal lives of the agents in this division are of no concern to me. But, since you seem to be the exception to every rule there is, that is how I will play this game. What I am about to say is not to be taken as a reprimand or as any kind of advice. It's a ... concern. From a friend."

"A friend, sir?"

"As I said, the exception to every rule." Was there a ghost of a smile on his face? "It has come to my attention that you... care about Peter Bishop. Is that correct?"

Olivia kept her expression neutral. She wondered what Peter would do in a situation like this.

"Well?"

"Yes, that is correct, sir."

"I trust you realize that Mr. Bishop hasn't always been on the right side of the law. You know his file. You know what he has done. You know what he is capable of doing."

"Sir, what does this have to do with -"

He interrupted her, continuing. "His father, Walter, was the only thing keeping him here. Working for us. You may not have realized this, but Walter is becoming more and more independent with each passing day. This means that Peter's time with us may expire sooner rather than later."

Olivia had not thought of this, but she knew that Peter and Walter still had a lot of things to sort out. Peter would never take off without doing right by Walter first.

"Peter's M.O. has him as the kind who does not stay in one place for too long."

"He's been here longer than anywhere else." She pointed out.

Broyles gave her one long look. "You're right. Don't forget about this. You are too good of a person to get trapped by the likes of Peter Bishop."

Olivia could tell that he really was concerned. The stern lines on his face were softer and his head was tilted a little to the right, as if he was anxious to see how she would respond.

"Thank you sir, I appreciate it."

He dropped his chin, just a little, as she took her leave. That tight knot in her throat softened just a little.

* * *

_**Note**: My goodness, it took me forever to post this chapter! Apologies for the delay. Thanks for the reviews so far!_


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